


Onion Rings

by zombiesbecrazy



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Gen, I don't know what to tag this with, accidental drugging, bros being bros, heroes not heroing, poop jokes because sometimes adults are children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 04:44:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20736443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiesbecrazy/pseuds/zombiesbecrazy
Summary: Damian stopped abruptly and lifted in his head to a gathering of people across the room. Clark zoned in and realised what was happening very quickly.“He’s drunk?”





	Onion Rings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [audreycritter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreycritter/gifts).

> Happy Birthday to Audrey!

“Mr. Kent?”

Clark’s eyes widened at the words before he turned. It was an address that he was used to, but not from this particular voice. It wasn’t at all like Damian to address him, or almost any adult as Mister, but this was a museum opening and he must be on his best Wayne heir behaviour for the formal event. Alfred would be proud.

“Yes?”

“My father is in need of assistance getting back to the hotel.”

“He drove here himself, right?”

“Yes, but he seems to find himself indisposed and needs extraction.”

“Lead the way.” It was a weird request from Damian. Clark and Bruce did have a public relationship, but it was mostly professional, only meeting up at events or pre-arranged meetings. In those instances they did come across as friendly, but at an event like this, Damian wouldn’t normally seek out Clark at all, let alone ask for help in something as small as getting him home. At worse, even Bruce’s public persona knew how to call an Uber.

Damian stopped abruptly and lifted in his head to a gathering of people across the room. Clark zoned in and realised what was happening very quickly.

“He’s drunk?” Clark had only seen Bruce drunk a handful of times and they were in very contained situations. It wasn’t out of the norm to see Bruce acting drunk, playing up the part of an affable idiot, but this looked like full on actual drunkenness. Loud, carrying voice, staggering posture, hands waving dramatically as he spoke. Clark could hear his elevated heartrate now that he was concentrating on it.

This wasn’t calculated. This was real.

“Luthor spiked his drink.” Damian crossed his arms and sniffed as he watched the display in front of him. “And with the amount of paparazzi outside, I can’t be behind the wheel to get him back safely myself.”

Not to mention that he’s thirteen and shouldn’t be driving regardless of who may see it. “Alright. I’ll look after it.” Damian turned to walk away. “Wait, don’t you want a ride, too?”

He paused and spun around again, shaking his head. “I’m fine. I’m going to go to Jon’s house.”

“My house.”

Damian clicked his tongue in annoyance, like he did what he thought someone was asking a redundant question that was beneath him. “Yes.”

“It’s 11:30, Damian. Jon’s asleep. He has been for several hours.”

“The text he sent me three minutes ago suggests otherwise.”

Clark groaned, because of course the son of Batman was slowly turning the son of Superman into being nocturnal. “Fine, but I’m letting Lois know you are on your way and you have to go to bed. No other activities. No _outside_ activities.” His face was blank, undecipherable to an outsider if they were to overhear the conversation, but his message was clear.

“Fine,” huffed Damian. He was doing his best to look put out, but Clark caught the way that his eyes stayed trained on Bruce across the room, who had an arm resting around Lex Luthor’s shoulders, and a booming laugh that travelled through the room. He really was concerned if he had asked Clark for help. “Thank you, Kent. For looking after him.”

“Thank you for getting me, Damian.”

As Clark got closer he noticed that Bruce was flushed and clumsy, both things that he could fake with ease from his training, but his pupils were blown out to the max, something he couldn’t do on command, despite how many times Bruce insisted that he could. This wasn’t drunk like Clark has originally guessed. This was drugged, which was worse.

Clark quickly pulled out his phone to text Lois about their incoming house guest and then after pocketing it again, strolled up casually between the two men, and raised his hand in offer to Bruce. A greeting or a lifeline depending on who was looking at it. “Nice to see you having a good time, Mr. Wayne. It’s been awhile since you’ve been in Metropolis.”

“Clark!” exclaimed Bruce, beaming as if he hadn’t seen him in months and not earlier that evening before the gala, grumbling about Alfred sending him off in a Ted Baker suit instead of the Brioni that Bruce preferred. He grabbed Clark’s hand tight and pulled him in for a hug that to any outsider would look like was just an overly friendly tipsy Bruce Wayne thing to do, but Clark felt Bruce’s fingers curl into his jacket a little bit. Lifeline it was. Bruce pulled back again and clapped his hand on Clark’s shoulder. “Lex, have you met Clark? He’s my favourite reporter at the Planet. He always writes the nicest things about me. We talked after my company started working with that other company about that thing? The thing with the stuff that makes energy clean somehow? I don’t know how it works but it sounds neat. He’s so nice about everyone, don’t you think?”

Luthor raised his drink, and Clark saw him grinning behind the glass, and he had to refrain himself from punching the smile off his face. “We’re acquainted, but that hasn’t been my experience with Mr. Kent,” he drawled. “It seems like he doesn’t always agree with my ideas or how I conduct my business.”

“Really?” Bruce sounded surprised, and even pouted a little, like he was sad that the two of them didn’t get along, before shrugging and smiling again. “Oh. I wouldn’t know. I only read my own press. Gets boring when it isn’t about me.” Bruce’s drunken eyes lit up with glee and he gasped suddenly. “Clark, do you remember the burger place you took me to near the Planet that one time?”

Clark had never taken Bruce for burgers near the Planet if you didn’t count his own apartment, but he decided to play along. “You mean Superburger?”

“Yes!” Bruce snapped his fingers in Luthor’s face urgently, as if it was the most important thing in the world. “Lex, have you tried it? The onion rings, Lex. _The onion rings._” Bruce shook Clark’s shoulder, like a child distracted by a new idea that had sank its teeth into them. “Can we go get some, Clark? I would kill for some of those.”

“Bruce, I’m sure Mr. Kent still has work to do,” said Luthor, clearly in attempt to keep Bruce with him. “People to interview and then inaccurately interpret their intentions about in the press later.”

“Actually, I’m done for the night and would love a burger. Escargot and caviar aren’t exactly my idea of a good meal.”

“Great! Let’s go now!” Bruce linked his arm with Clark’s and started to lead them towards the door. He waved back in a way that could only be described as thrashing. “Bye, Lex!”

Getting Bruce into the car was both very easy and extremely difficult at the same time. The valet brought the car around quickly, but trying to get Bruce to sit in the passenger seat instead of the driver’s seat took more convincing than Clark had expected, and then his limbs were all flaily when trying to get into the two seater. Only when Clark realised that Damian had the passenger seat pulled up closer to the dash and he released the latch to accommodate for Bruce’s long legs did things get easier.

He had also not expected to be confused the moment that he tried to put the car into drive. “Umm. I don’t know how to drive this.”

“You grew up on a farm. You can drive. I’ve seen you fly alien spaceships.” The last part trailed off into a mock whisper, as if Bruce knew that that was a secret, but couldn’t remember how to be quiet. Even with just a few words, and even while drugged, Clark could see the shift from Bruce Wayne into just Bruce, the Bruce that Clark knew best. Now that he was out of the crowd and in the safety of the car, the playboy demeanor gone and he appeared to be draining of energy fast.

“Sure, but where is the gear shift? I can’t drive the car if I can’t get the car out of park.”

“Oh.” Bruce looked around the dash, as if trying to remember what car he was in, before he pointed. “It’s the shifter that you normally use for the wipers.”

“Then how do you use the…” he spotted a wiper button on the console “Never mind.” He flicked the shifter down into drive and pulled away from the museum and started heading towards Bruce’s hotel. “You don’t strike me as the type of guy who would drive automatic.”

“I don’t usually. I just wanted to drive a red car. My Metropolis red car is automatic.”

Only Bruce Wayne would refer to a Jaguar that probably wasn’t going to be released to the public until next year as ‘his red car’.

“You know, everything I drive is an alien spaceship, technically,” said Clark. “Unless it’s at the Fortress or its Kara’s pod, it’s alien to me.”

“What about your pod?”

“I was a baby. I don’t fit anymore.” A few moments passed in silence. Bruce fumbled around in the glove compartment and pulled out a bottle of water. He seemed to have trouble twisting the cap, but finally managed. “What happened tonight?”

“Lex spiked my drink. Couldn’t ditch it without suspicion so…” Bruce took a long sip of the water, draining half the bottle and wincing as he swallowed, “down it went.”

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Clark sighed. It was the ongoing battle. Bruce and Clark. Batman and Superman. Fine never meant fine. Fine meant that he was planning on struggling through whatever it was by himself, except Clark never actually let him do that. It was all part of the dance. “What was it?”

“Something similar to flunitrazepam, but it’s been mixed with something else.”

“That’s like Rohypnol, right?”

“Similar.” He ran his hands through his hair, product making it stand up strange in all directions. “I have a tolerance to it, but being cut with something else means I am compromised.” Clark thought that compromised was a polite way of saying ‘wasted off his ass’ but ignored the word choice.

“But why?” Why in the heck would Lex bother with roofie-ing Bruce Wayne? What could be the benefit, unless… “Does he know?” Lex was smart and had known Bruce a long time, both as the business mogul and as Batman. It wasn’t a far leap to connect the two.

Bruce shook his head and looked like he immediately regretted it, and held his hand to his mouth for a moment, fighting a wave of nausea. “Corporate sabotage.” Clark raised an eyebrow, but kept his eyes on the road in front of him. “Happens more than you would expect. Probably just trying to get me to do something stupid publicly. Maybe leak some info that shouldn’t be leaked.” He cracked the window and rested his head in a position that the fresh air hit his face, eyes closed. “Jokes on him. It’s better for me long term if Bruce Wayne looks stupid.”

“You are Bruce Wayne.”

“Potato, tomato.”

“If you say so.” Clark struggled to keep a straight face. He stopped at a red light and turned his head to get a better look at Bruce. “How do you feel?” It was a better question than asking if he was okay. It had more parameters.

“Honestly?” Bruce fidgeted in the seat some. “Twitchy. Like when you are overtired and your legs get restless, but I feel like that everywhere.” The light changed and Clark continued to drive. Bruce was silent for a few more lights and Clark was wondering if he had drifted off before he started talking again. “Jason used to do that. When his legs started twitching randomly I know that I had to send him off to bed. He’d argue about it, but go.” Bruce inhaled audibly and let it out shakily. “I miss him.”

Clark had seen Bruce go down this path countless times. Whenever he was hurt or sick or drugged, there was the inevitable tipping point when he started talking about Jason; the Jason from before the Joker. The boy that he had lost. Bruce worried about all his kids, his protégés, but this one in particular always came up when he was at his most vulnerable.

Clark reached across and gave Bruce’s hand a squeeze. “He’s safe, Bruce. He’s okay.”

“But we’re not,” mumbled Bruce. “Jason and I are not okay. We’re never okay. He hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you. Not really.” Clark tried to think of the best way to put it that made sense. “It’s like when you run two bulls together. You’re a lot alike and you just end up fighting and hurting each other. You both get too emotional when you try to talk to each other.”

Bruce’s eyes popped open at that and he sat up straighter to stare at Clark, jaw dropped comically. “_I’m_ too emotional?” Clark sniggered and nodded while Bruce continued to stare at him in a dumbfounded way. “And to think Dick always tells me I’m emotionally constipated.”

“Constipated is not the same thing as non-existent.” It was something that he had heard Dick say countless times, in many colourful different ways. “You get backed up, is all. Then when you and Jason get together it explodes out in unfortunate ways.” He smirked at Bruce. “I don’t think I need to actually say the obvious poop joke there for you to get my point.”

Bruce grunted in response and turned back to the window. Clark thought that the conversation was over, until Bruce piped up again. “That’s a shitty thing to say.”

Clark burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of it, and Bruce followed suit. For a few minutes it was just the two of them laughing in the car, not worrying about being drugged or Luthor or mistakes from the past. Just two friends being silly in a dark car in the middle of the night. It was moments like this when they were just normal people that Clark loved best.

Clark hit another red light and was at a literal crossroads. He had promised Damian one thing, but there was another, better option.

“Do you still want to go back to the hotel? Or my place? Damian’s sleeping over there tonight.”

“Hmm.” He thought the possibilities over for longer than it would have taken him on a normal night. “Your place if it is alright. I don’t want to be alone at the hotel.”

Clark nodded and turned right, in the direction of their apartment. “Home it is.”

“Wait. Pull over.” Bruce’s tone was urgent and insistent and Clark found himself pulling to the curb without hesitation.

“Why? Are you going to be sick?”

“No.” He pointed out the window, where the glowing lights of a Superburger were shining through the dark like a beacon. “I believe I was promised a burger.”

“I think you were more interested in the onion rings.”

“Burger, Clark,” said Bruce, in a familiar way to how he had sounded at the gala. Innocent and excited. “Getting food in me will only help.”

“Fine, but you have to eat it like a normal person. None of this ‘raised by a butler and uses a knife and fork’ nonsense.”

“Drunk Bruce Wayne can eat a burger like a heathen as long as there are a side of onion rings.”

“You’re an onion ring, you know,” said Clark. “A delightful onion with many rings.”

Bruce’s brow scrunched up in confusion, seemingly in deep thought. “I don’t get it. I have been drugged though. I’m not at my best for puzzles tonight.”

“You will in the morning, Dark Shrek.” Clark pulled the car into the drive through and up to the ordering screen. “Let’s go get that burger and go home.”


End file.
